


Phosphine

by the_parallax_of_rain



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: AU where Nacho confides in Domingo, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Nacho buries his emotions, Suffering, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_parallax_of_rain/pseuds/the_parallax_of_rain
Summary: “Have I corrupted you?” Nacho had asked suddenly. There was uncertainty in his eyes. “You don’t have to join me just because you think it’s what I want, you know.”“No. No, man. I made this choice.” He had tried to reassure Nacho that he was just as complicit. “I wanted in. Whatever happens, I’m cool with it.”Chained to a post in the dark basement of his former business associate, recovering from phosphine gas poisoning, Domingo reflects on scattered memories, accidents and fate during his last days alive. But mostly, he remembers losing Nacho Varga.
Relationships: Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 22
Kudos: 40





	Phosphine

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how well this turned out, but Domingo deserves more attention and Domingo/Nacho is overlooked so I am just posting it anyways :’) I thank the writers of BCS so much for these characters, and I hope that at least some of you will enjoy reading! 
> 
> Also I listened to the song “Sadderdaze” by The Neighborhood on repeat while writing this, and it kind of really fits the theme I tried to go for. Would recommend listening :)

_No matter how hard he struggles to breathe, it feels like his chest is cast in concrete. He’s drowning in air. He coughs and tastes metallic blood in his mouth. The floor burns against his cheek. He vaguely remembers an explosion, a searing pain flooding his torso, followed by blissful darkness._

* * *

“Hey,” Nacho greeted him, eyes fixed on the textbook open in front of him. Domingo walked over to where he was sitting and dropped his own backpack down on the floor. “Hey yourself.” He sat down slowly across from Nacho, so as not to spook him. _Goddammit._ He cleared his throat and Nacho glanced up briefly. “So, are we gonna talk about – ”

“Domingo, it means nothing, got it?” Nacho said quickly. “Just forget it ever happened.”

“But Nacho, don’t you think we should at least talk about it?” His heart jumped up into his throat at the prospect of _this_ , whatever it was, being dismissed.

“We were _drunk._ ” Nacho’s tone indicated that he was ending the conversation firmly. “It was a stupid party and my father will kill me if he finds out I went there. There’s nothing to talk about, really. Okay? Don’t bring it up to me again, please.”

Domingo sighed, and glanced out the window. The dusty parking lot in front of El Michoacano – the generally empty restaurant they had been using as a place to study together since freshman year of high school – was barren, save for a dented soda can rolling slowly along the asphalt. It was just the two of them here right now. It had always been the two of them since childhood.

He couldn’t think of anything to say except “We weren’t _that_ drunk…” 

* * *

_He drifts in and out of consciousness. One time he gains enough awareness to wrench his eyes open, and is greeted by darkness and dancing dust motes in the periphery. There’s the ugly sound of somebody gasping for air, and it takes him a long time to realize the sound is coming from him._

* * *

“Domingo. What is this?” His mother stood in front of him, holding a bundle of cash in her fist. “Do you want to tell me why one of your friends came by with this?”

Shit. That would’ve been the new kid. Domingo internally cursed the kid for not using more discretion when dropping off his earnings – and then cursed himself for being so stupid as to give his home address to all of his associates, thinking that they would have enough sense to stay away from his personal life. All this, just as he had started working as a dealer upon Nacho’s recommendation (“It’s good money, Domingo. Think about it as supporting your parents. And imagine all the respect you’d get from everyone else in the business.”) He was sure doing a good job keeping his new side gig a secret from his family. “It’s okay, it’s just from a guy that owes me some money.”

She saw through his lie instantly. After all, there was basically only one reason why such large amounts of cash would be getting passed around. “Domingo, I told you to stay away from those people. _Por qué eres así?_ You’re in college! You should know better!” Then she sighed. “Do your other friends know about this? Does Ignacio know?” 

Perhaps he should have known better than to get involved. But just like a magnet cannot resist the pull of its opposite, it was hard to remain out of the game when Nacho Varga was in.

* * *

_He gradually becomes aware of the passing of time, and realizes he is now sitting upright, leaning against something hard. The shock of returning to full consciousness propels him upwards – and he is abruptly greeted with the restricting sensation of cold metal around his neck. He reaches up and tries to yank it loose. His pulse races at the thought of being captured again._

_There’s light filtering in through a high-up window, and he warily scopes out his surroundings. It looks like he’s trapped in some kind of basement or cellar, judging by the stairs leading up to a door at ground level. He spends time sitting alone, chained to his post, flickering between past and present until hours or maybe days later, when that door opens and someone makes their way down the stairs. He straightens up, and his throat feels so tight and he can barely recognize his own choked voice as he shouts, “Hey, could you bring me some water?”_

* * *

He had come home that day bruised and bloody. His mother had fussed over him with bandages and pain killers, asking him where it hurt. Domingo didn’t know how to describe the dread he felt upon seeing Nacho towering over him, his expression stony and unreadable. The sound of Nacho’s boots making contact with his ribs. The searing heat of Nacho’s hands on his shirt collar, scraping against his skin and slamming him like a toy against the ground. The pressure of Nacho’s fingers on his throat.

He tried to calm his shaky breathing as he wove a convincing lie to his mother about how he had gotten jumped on the way home. She didn’t say much, just bit her lip in resignation and handed him a glass of water to rinse his bleeding mouth with.

He told himself that he _wasn’t_ scared of his friend. Nacho had punished him on orders. Nacho didn’t have a choice. It was his own fault for not bringing in the correct amount that week and for disappointing his bosses. It was his own fault that he was losing Nacho over the years, watching his friend become slowly carved away by the profession they had chosen and being powerless to stop. Yes, Domingo definitely deserved this.

He barely saw or heard from Nacho for the next couple of weeks after the beating, until one day all hell broke loose when he heard through the grapevine that Don Hector had been hospitalized a few days ago. Throughout his shift at Tampico that afternoon, Domingo debated whether or not to try reaching Nacho to ask what was going on. He settled on just waiting for a call from him, but there was dead silence. Instead, his restlessness directed him to call all of his crew members and make sure they knew to keep running things as usual. As he rang up customers, he bit down on his creeping terror that something had happened to Nacho.

And then Nacho appeared on his doorstep that evening. Domingo felt a lump rise in his throat and he quickly averted eye contact. “Hey, did you hear about…”

“Yes,” Nacho cut in. “I was there.”

Domingo was about to ask what Nacho was doing here out of the blue, and if they had moved past _that_ incident, when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and Nacho was pulling him into an awkward hug, and suddenly it was like he’s a kid again, falling into his friend’s arms after losing another one of his lunches to the bullies at school. “I’m sorry Domingo,” Nacho murmured. “I took care of it. He won’t make me do anything like that again.”

Domingo didn’t actually think about the implications of those words until much, much later. In that moment, hope for their continued relationship spasmed in his chest. He leaned into Nacho and just focused on his breathing. He wasn’t aware that he had been weeping until Nacho’s sleeve was wet with his tears.

* * *

_His captor hovers nearby, almost nervously, and hands Domingo a new sandwich and a soda. He seems to have fully recovered from his earlier fainting fit, and actually sits down right there, fiddling with his hands nervously. “Krazy-8. Do I really have to call you that? I mean, no offense but – don’t you have a real name?”_

_He mulls it over and decides to tell him. It’s been years since he had last heard his name come out of someone else’s mouth._

* * *

“Domingo,” Nacho greeted him outside MDC with measured relief. “How’d it go?”

“The lawyer really saved my ass,” Domingo replied with a nervous laugh. “That was a good plan you came up with, Nacho.”

“Hmm.” Domingo suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable as Nacho’s gaze swept over his face. “You’re lucky I found someone crooked to get you out of there. You should’ve been more careful about getting caught.”

Domingo had never been able to deal with his friend’s disappointment, which was something new that had arisen since Tuco had gotten jailed and Nacho had started working higher up in the chain of command. He had no doubt that Nacho maybe didn’t want to associate with him too closely anymore (perhaps it wasn’t even wise to have friends in the business?), but Domingo still clung to the hope that he could still fix this. “I wouldn’t have said anything, Nacho! I swear. You know I wouldn’t have.”

“I know.” Nacho gestured at Domingo to follow him to where his car was parked. Where, to Domingo’s dismay, Lalo was standing, with an unnerving grin on his face. He shot Nacho an uneasy look, never sure how to act around their new companion. Judging by the way Nacho subtly clenched his jaw, in a way that only Domingo would have noticed, he didn’t know either.

* * *

_He gazes at Walter White, the high school chemistry teacher who has confided in him that he has lung cancer and who looks comically out of place in Domingo’s world – a world choked with violence and bloodshed and loss. He almost pities the guy, and decides to give him some advice._

_“Walter, if this line of work doesn’t suit you, get out – ”_

* * *

“ – before it’s too late! God, do you know how dangerous it is to be playing _against_ the Salamancas?” Nacho leaned against the side of his car, watching Domingo rant with a half-amused, half-serious gaze.

“Domingo, calm down. Didn’t I say that you wouldn’t like what I had to say? It’s your own fault, you know, for being nosy,” Nacho supplied super helpfully. 

“ _Nosy?_ Hell yeah I’m gonna be nosy if _this_ is what you get up to in your free time!” Domingo was on the verge of tears. “Do you know what’s going to happen when Lalo finds out? That guy sees everything! How can you even choose to do this?”

Nacho remained silent a moment longer than Domingo would have liked, as the ghost of a tired smile flitted over his face. “Your concern is adorable, but I’m okay.” 

“What does _that_ mean? No, you’re _not_ okay!” _Was this what a panic attack feels like?_ “I care about you, man. I don’t want you to – ” 

Nacho closed the distance between them swiftly and laid a hand on Domingo’s shoulder. “Hey. Just relax. I’ll handle things on my end, and you just pretend like I never told you anything. I walked into this with my eyes open, and I’m gonna get me and my father out the same way.” 

“You don’t have to always comfort me!” They weren’t kids anymore, and Domingo had known him too long to be fooled by his calm demeanor. There was emotion boiling within Nacho and Domingo just wanted him to unleash it. “Can we just please not keep dancing around the topic? You’ve gotta be scared, man. Just _tell_ me something, don’t keep me in the dark about this!”

Nacho took a shaky breath, and Domingo could sense his restrained anger. “Okay. I did not choose to get into this just because I felt like it. It’s Gustavo Fring. And anyways, feeling scared isn’t gonna change shit for me.”

It had been months since the Salamancas had taken out the Espinosas – months since Nacho had been gunned down and left to bleed out in the middle of the desert. Domingo still had nightmares about the fact that he could have lost him then and there. He still imagined blood blooming over the front of Nacho’s shirt, envisioned his softly expressive eyes glazing over.

Watching Nacho struggle now to maintain his stony facade, Domingo realized that the choices they had made together would inevitably lead to him losing the person who had always been there in his corner. He just hadn’t known that the loss was already happening, and somehow that hurt even more.

* * *

_The man is about to unlock him. Domingo slips his fingers into his pocket, touches the jagged shard of plate. He’ll be free soon. Even as he thinks this, the small dark part of his mind that has haunted him for the past few years asks what he’s going to do after this. What else is there to do? All he has is the business, the business that Nacho had tried so hard to leave._

_And then suddenly, the bike lock crushes his windpipe and the world glints dangerously before his eyes._

* * *

He could remember exactly the night that he heard about Nacho’s death. He hadn’t heard from the man in quite some time, which he was getting used to now that Nacho was busy navigating between Lalo and Fring. He had returned home from work to see his mom sobbing at the kitchen table. She told him that Manuel Varga had been found shot dead in his upholstery store, and that Ignacio Varga was nowhere to be found. Nobody just _disappears_ once they’re involved with the cartel. The cartel always seeks closure, which meant…

And the worst part was, Domingo didn’t know who to blame. He didn’t know if it was Gus Fring or the Salamancas that had suddenly washed his entire world in blood. Suddenly angry, he felt his fist colliding with the wall, and cause and effect and consequences all came together in his mind as he realized they had never stood a chance. Two young idiots, thinking they could get involved with the fucking cartel and come away unscathed.

He had never told Nacho that he loved him – as a friend, as a brother, as something more. 

Domingo spent the better part of that night sitting on a dilapidated bench overlooking the playground where they had spent much of their childhood. There were two young boys hanging out near the swing set, taking turns pushing each other. Their delighted laughs echoed softly among the trees. He searched within himself for the tears that he was so sure would surface – but was surprised to find that he couldn’t cry. _God, how fucked up am I._

Years ago, long before things had gone to shit, Domingo’s parents had invited Nacho and his father over to their house for dinner. Afterwards, Nacho had come up to his room and they had laid on his bed together, just close enough for their shoulders to brush, clear-headed and comfortable in their silent agreement for some emotional distance. Tomorrow they were supposed to meet up together with Tuco for the first time. “Have I corrupted you?” Nacho had asked suddenly. There was uncertainty in his eyes. “You don’t have to join me just because you think it’s what I want, you know.”

“No. _No,_ man. I made this choice.” He had tried to reassure Nacho that he was just as complicit. “I wanted in. Whatever happens, I’m cool with it.”

Sitting alone on the bench, illuminated in the dying glow of the playground’s sole streetlight, Domingo let his tears spill over.

* * *

_He’s blindly swinging the plate piece behind him, trying to stab his captor. There’s so much pressure in his head that he can’t see and each thought skitters away from his grasp as fast as it arrives. And yet there’s the name of someone on his tongue._

* * *

They had first met during a neighborhood game of Cops and Robbers, organized by Mrs. Varga. The heat lay thick and heavy over the streets as she split the kids into two teams and sent them on their way. Since Domingo’s family had moved here only recently after his father successfully set up their new furniture store, Domingo didn’t really know anybody on either team, so he found himself generally staying behind the other cops as they surged forward to protect their designated object (Santiago’s shoe, which had been gleefully volunteered by the boy).

It seemed that each person had picked out an opponent to shadow, so Domingo tried to gauge the other team to see whom he might be capable enough to chase after. He decided to go after the first boy his eyes landed on, the boy who looked up at him with large brown eyes. There was a mischievous smirk on the other boy’s face, and while all the other kids were busy psyching each other out with intimidating glares, he suddenly hurled himself toward the dirty shoe on the ground. 

“Gotcha!” Domingo pounced and landed on top of him. Dust flew everywhere as they hit the ground. “You’re going to jail!”

“I don’t think so,” the boy responded, and without a moment’s preparation, he grabbed the shoe and threw it blindly towards the other kids. Someone from his team probably caught it, because he let out a quick “Thanks, Nacho!” and suddenly everyone was stampeding towards the robber to stop him from returning to the safe zone.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Domingo weakly protested to the boy he had tackled. Dusty and sweating, they both sat up and watched as Domingo’s team lost hopelessly.

“There’s always a way out of the rules,” Nacho explained. “You just gotta find it.” Domingo knew that what he was saying was probably wrong, but he couldn’t help but be impressed by Nacho’s confidence. “Is this your first time playing?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m new here.”

Nacho smiled at him warmly. “So you don’t know the way this game works around here. Makes sense.” He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Domingo up as well. “I’ll teach you.”

Domingo heard someone calling his name from the sidewalk. He turned around and noticed his mother standing there. She must have noticed that he hadn’t cleaned his room last night like he had said he would.

“Sorry, my mom is calling me,” Domingo apologized to his new friend. “I’ll see you later!”

The way Nacho’s eyes eagerly sought him out through the afternoon dust remained fixed in his mind for days. “See you around!”

* * *

_There’s a heat building up behind his eyes that isn’t entirely due to suffocation. He feels the bloody tears burning their way down his face. And yet, even as he tries to gasp for air, he is not as afraid of letting go as he thought he might be. After all, dying can’t be that bad if he has someone to look forward to on the other side, right?_


End file.
